Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

A mother’s reflections on her daughter’s birthday November 16, 2013

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EVEN AS A BABY, she was fiercely her own person.

Miranda didn’t snuggle. She cried way too much. In those early months, it was sometimes tough being her mother, dealing with a colicky infant while also nurturing my first-born, only 21 months older.

But that all seems so long ago now that my second daughter is turning 26 today.

Miranda and her dad, along the shore of Lake Winnebago near Appleton, when we last visited in October.

Miranda and her dad, along the shore of Lake Winnebago near Appleton in High Cliff State Park, when we last visited her in October.

Where have the years gone? I have asked myself that often this past year—the year in which my eldest daughter married, my 19-year-old son moved to Boston to attend college and my middle child, Miranda, is now edging away from 25. In many ways, it’s been a tough year for me as I adjust to life as an empty nester.

But then I consider my three and I can only be happy for them, proud of the independent adults they’ve become, seemingly content in their lives.

Take Miranda, the birthday girl. She’s lived and worked for the past three years as a Spanish medical interpreter in Appleton, Wisconsin, 300 miles from Faribault. She possesses a deep passion for her work and the people she serves. And there is nothing more noble in a job than to love what you do and to serve others.

Although I’m not privy to details due to patient confidentiality, I know Miranda has dealt with some difficult situations, interpreting for patients in hospital emergency rooms, physicians’ offices and elsewhere. It takes a special type of person to remain calm and professional and compassionate in the face of emotional stress and/or trauma. My daughter is all of those.

As a little girl, Miranda was all girly girl, wearing only skirts and donning ribbons in her hair. She also loved horses, including her stick horse, shown here in a photo taken when she was 5 1/2.

As a little girl, Miranda was all girly girl, wearing only skirts and donning ribbons in her hair. She also loved horses, including her stick horse, shown here in a photo taken when she was 5 1/2.

I wonder, sometimes, if that core strength and heartfelt empathy come from her own experiences. At age four, she underwent hernia surgery. Even now I can visualize my darling curly haired girl walking down the hospital hallway to the operating room, Big Bird clutched in one hand, the other hand held by a nurse. My preschooler never cried. I did.

And then, years later, she was diagnosed with scoliosis (an abnormal curvature of the spine) and wore a full torso back brace 24/7 for a year. That time we both cried at the diagnosis. But Miranda soldiered on and never complained although I know it had to be difficult for her. Life’s challenges often make us stronger.

Miranda is undeniably strong and independent. She’s studied, interned and vacationed in Argentina. On her second trip of three to South America, she was mugged. Not assaulted, thankfully. Thousands of miles away, I felt utterly helpless. Miranda managed, with the help of friends and my assistance back home, to work through the situation.

I need only look back at the baby and preschooler she was to see the roots of her independence and strength. I remember how, as a preschooler, Miranda would tell me to “go away” when she was playing alone in the toy room, now my office. So I would turn around and walk away, only semi understanding her desire for solitude.

That, I suppose, was the beginning of the letting go. As mothers, that is our ultimate goal—to let our children go. It is not easy, but that is our job from the moment they are born. I eased Miranda onto that path of independence early on, as much for myself as for her, by sending her to bible camp every summer, supporting her decisions to go on multiple mission trips (including two to clean up after Hurricane Katrina), sucking up my own worry and enthusing about her time in Argentina, and now, even though I wish she lived nearer than 300 miles away, accepting that she’s happy where she’s at in her life.

Now, on my daughter’s 26th birthday, I reflect on this beautiful young woman her dad and I raised. Miranda is a woman of faith, caring and compassionate and kind and giving, and, bonus, a darned good cook. Whenever we visit, she treats us to delicious home-cooked ethnic food. She worked two summers in the Concordia Spanish Language Village kitchen near Bemidji, where she learned to cook. I failed her in that skill.

But I succeeded where it counts, and that is in raising my girl to cherish God, family and friends and to pursue her passions in life.

Please join me in wishing Miranda a happy 26th birthday.

Happy birthday, Tib! I love you now and forever.

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

An unexpected birthday treat September 26, 2013

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Me with my personalized birthday treat. Photo by Eric Schmidt.

Me with my personalized birthday treat. Photo by Eric Schmidt.

IN THE MIDST OF WEDDING preparations, I’d nearly forgotten that my birthday fell four days after my eldest daughter’s nuptials. That would be today, the day I edge another year nearer to 60 than to 50.

But my daughter’s new mother-in-law remembered, arriving with a gigantic birthday cookie on Saturday, wedding reception venue set-up day. Lynn is so incredibly thoughtful. She wanted to make sure I was remembered in all the busyness of wedding planning and prep. How sweet.

The other sweet thing is that the cookie was inscribed with “Happy Birthday Audrey!” I can’t recall ever having my name written on a birthday treat. Ever.

To be remembered like this, to have my family and my girl’s new family pause in reception set-up and sing Happy Birthday as my now son-in-law carried the personalized birthday cookie to me touched me deeply as did the photographs taken of me. It is wonderful to feel so loved and cherished.

(MORE WEDDING PHOTOS coming tomorrow, dear readers.)

© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Twenty-five years ago this beautiful daughter came into my life November 16, 2012

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Miranda, almost two, eating chocolate cake.

MY SECOND BORN of three, Miranda, turns 25 today.

What does a mother write about her girl that truly encompasses all her daughter has become as a young woman?

Miranda celebrates the Argentine World Cup soccer victory at Plaza de la Republica in Buenos Aires. The balloon is soccer legend Diego Maradona, at that time the coach of Argentina’s national team. She’s lived in Buenos Aires twice.

I will tell you that my dear daughter is kind and compassionate, adventuresome and fearless (except for spiders), a woman of faith, soft-spoken, yet there to speak for those whose voices need to be heard.

She works as a Spanish medical interpreter and has a heart for helping non-English speaking Hispanics in northeastern Wisconsin. It is an important job. Her ability to interpret under time and emotional pressures impresses me. She cares. Deeply.

Yet, it is that very profession which keeps my girl away from Minnesota. Because she is on call so often, including many nights, weekends and holidays, she is able to make the 5 ½-hour trip back home only several times a year. Likewise, those hours limit times my husband and I can visit our daughter.

Time with her is precious. Just like our daughter. Precious.

A photo of Miranda when she was back in Minnesota in June for her brother’s high school graduation.

Happy birthday, Miranda/Tib! We love you now and forever and miss you and if you were here, I would bake you a chocolate cake.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Roses & poetry September 29, 2012

Birthday roses from my husband, Randy.

WHAT WOMAN DOESN’T love roses and poetry?

After work on Wednesday, my 56th birthday, my dear husband brought me a dozen wrapped long-stem roses. Then he disappeared, tools and parts in hand, down the basement stairs to the laundry room to repair my clothes dryer which no longer was producing heat. Roses from the repairman. Perfect.

Simultaneously, I was upstairs in my office checking my email while my birthday supper, homemade lasagna, finished baking.

Crossings at Carnegie, housed in a former Carnegie library, is a privately-owned cultural visual and performing arts center in Zumbrota. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.

Waiting in my in-box was this message from Crossings at Carnegie, a privately-owned arts center in Zumbrota:

Thank you for submitting poetry/prose to be considered for Crossings’ “It’s All One Water” exhibit. We received about 110 poems, from which jurors chose 28. It was exciting to receive such a fine outpouring of exceptional work from so many talented writers. Jurists told us they were a pleasure to read, and selecting those to be included was a difficult task.

We are pleased to inform you that your entry, “In which Autumn searches for Water,” was chosen to be part of this exhibit. Your poem will be on display, along with other written works and photographs, through the month of October.

How sweet is that? Another dozen roses, figuratively speaking.

I’ll admit that when I submitted “In which Autumn searches for Water,” I was confident my poem would be selected for Crossings’ joint collaboration with the Zumbro Watershed Partnership. I don’t mean that in an arrogant, haughty way. But I think those of us who write realize when we’ve written a piece that sings.

Not that I’m going to sing. You would not want to hear me sing. But I will read my water-themed poem during the Friday, October 19, “It’s All One Water” reception which begins at 7 p.m. A reading of written pieces, with screen projection of water-themed photos, will start at 7:30 p.m. next door to Crossings at the Zumbrota State Theatre.

A chapbook of selected photos and writing (maybe my poem?) also will be published.

There you have it, roses and poetry. Perfect.

#

ANOTHER FARIBAULT RESIDENT, Larry Gavin, a writer who teaches English at Faribault High School (he’s taught all three of my kids), is also among the “It’s All One Water” selected poets. Larry, however, is eons ahead of me in poetry. He’s already published three poetry collections. Like me, though, he also was published on Roadside Poetry project billboards (now ending after a run of 22 seasonal poems). You can learn more about this gifted Faribault poet in a post I published nearly a year ago by clicking here.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Old Fifty-six: A beer & a birthday September 26, 2012

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My second birthday and the clown cake my mom made for me.

WHEN MY HUSBAND ASKED what I was working on for blog posts, I answered, “I suppose I should write about my birthday.”

It wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic response because I’m not all that enthusiastic about turning 56 today. That number puts me closer to 60 than 50 and I favor a five in front of a zero rather than a six.

Now that I’ve exposed that bit of birthday melancholy, let’s focus on the positive.

A birthday truly is pause for celebration and thankfulness.

I am thankful for a family that loves me; a husband who supports me in my writing; friends who care and pray for me and who even think I’m sometimes funny; readers and editors who value my writing and photography; a house that’s paid for; my heavenly Father who loves and forgives and provides for me…

As for that celebrating part…I had this novel idea for a pre-birthday dinner we hosted on Sunday. I wanted to have some Old 56 beer on hand. I thought that would be cool (yes an outdated word, but, hey, I was a 70s teen), offering a memorable beverage for someone born in 1956 and turning 56.

Besides that, Old 56 is produced by my favorite craft brewery, Brau Brothers Brewing Company in tiny Lucan, five miles from the southwestern Minnesota farm where I grew up. I hear, though, that the brewery is relocating to Marshall 15 miles to the west, which saddens me. That is another story.

Do you think, though, that my husband could find any Old 56 locally, at least in the two liquor stores he had time to shop? No. So there was no Old 56 crisp light lager named after the fire engine the city of Lucan purchased in 1956.

Instead, we drank Schells.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Remembering Dad March 4, 2012

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My dad was proud of the new grove he planted on our farm south of Vesta in May 1973.

HE TAUGHT ME to respect and love the land.

He taught me to respect and love God.

He taught me to respect and love family.

He taught me the value of hard work.

He was my father.

And today, March 4, would have been his 81st birthday.

I miss him.

Dad farmed, in the early years with a John Deere and Farmall and IH tractors and later with a Ford. (Photo by Lanae Kletscher Feser)

Dad farmed, in the early years with a John Deere, Farmall and IH, and later with a Ford.

I'd never seen this image until yesterday. It captures a rare quite moment of solitude/contemplation/a break from farm work as my dad pets Fritz, our farm dog, in June 1989.

My dad takes a break from farm chores to pet Fritz in this June 1980 photo.

 

Happy birthday to my adventurous, big-city daughter February 10, 2012

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Amber in 1986, sometime during her first year of life. The photo is not dated. A friend told me she looked just like the baby on the Gerber baby food jars.

TWENTY-SIX YEARS AGO today, I joined the sisterhood of mothers at the birth of my daughter.

Now, dear readers, if you’ve read my post from yesterday, you will recall that my son celebrated his 18th birthday just yesterday.

What are the chances of giving birth to two children one day shy of eight years apart? I have no idea. (My other daughter was born in November.)

But back to the daughter who today turns 26, which is now more than half way to 50. I had to toss that mathematical notation in there because, well, through the years I’ve received my share of handcrafted cards from her emphasizing my age.

There, I’ve gotten that out.

On to Amber… How does a mother describe a daughter, explain the depth of love she has for her, reveal the essence of a bond that really cannot be confined to words?

I can’t.

But I’ll share a few observations about the daughter I’ve nurtured and loved and cherish as only a mother can cherish.

She’s a strong, independent woman living and working in the big city. And she loves it. Sometimes I’m still surprised that any offspring of mine would love city life given their rural genetics. Can genes include a predisposition to rural or city? Probably not.

Life for Amber is an adventure, whether organizing a gathering with friends or planning a trip across the country or abroad. I won’t even mention here the trip she is pondering now for fear that writing the words will stamp the journey into reality.

I expect those close to me sometimes wonder, given Amber’s inclination to travel, whether she could possibly be my daughter. Here’s the explanation as to her wanderlust: I purposely raised Amber with a desire to travel, allowing her to go on mission trips and Christian youth gatherings while in high school.  Was it easy for me? No. But sometimes oftentimes a mother sets aside her worries to do what is best for her child.

Amber loves the Minnesota Twins. And I love how, each June, she takes her dad to a Twins game as his Father’s Day gift. They’ve invited me along. I’m not interested in baseball. And even if I was, I wouldn’t join them. This time is best left for father and daughter to savor without my intrusion.

Even at three months, Amber possessed a sense of fashion, wouldn't you say?

Since moving to the city upon her college graduation 3 ½ years ago, Amber’s developed a sense of fashion that suits urban life. She wears hip, but not over the top, attire that exudes confidence and style. Yet, she manages this by thrifting, using coupons and shopping sales. It pleases me that my daughter values the lesson she learned from youth that it’s OK to wear recycled clothing.

This post would not be complete without telling you that Amber is, simply put, a truly nice person. She’s kind and loyal and loving and generous and friendly—to the point where she recently was scolded for being “too friendly.” But we shall not get into that here.

She’s a woman with a deep faith in God. And that, more than anything, is what I desire for any child of mine.

Today I celebrate the blessing of Amber, my first-born, the daughter who always made her dad and me laugh by calling soda crackers “Minnesota” crackers. She says the moniker came from biting into a cracker that then looked like the shape of our state. I say she was confused by the soda/sota.

It doesn’t matter. She still makes us laugh.

Happy birthday, Amber!

I love you.

Mom

I wasn't sure Amber would like this Twins bag I picked up for her as a Christmas gift. But she loved it. The past two years she's worn that ugly Christmas sweatshirt and an equally ugly holiday sweater at holiday gatherings. So please do not consider this her fashion style.

Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

From LEGOs to college-bound, my son turns 18 February 9, 2012

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Notice the size of Caleb's hand when he was only 1 1/2 days old.

MY SON, my youngest, turns 18 today, a bittersweet day for this mom soon facing an empty nest after 26 years.

Caleb’s officially an adult now. But that doesn’t mean his dad and I will allow him to drive alone to Canada to check out the University of Manitoba in Winnipeg because we don’t have passports and he does. This would be his plan, not ours.

Yes, he’s strong-willed and smart, traits that will take him far in life. Yet those same qualities can frustrate the heck out of his parents who happen to know just a wee bit more than him, even if he doesn’t think that could be remotely possible.

I don’t want to focus on the struggles sometimes oftentimes waged between parents and teens. Rather, I want to celebrate my son. This will sound all trite and mushy and everything. But I value every day I have my boy in my life, even those days that challenge my parenting skills and patience.

You see, in 2006 Caleb was struck by a hit-and-run driver while crossing the street to his school bus stop. The panic that seared my soul on that morning is unlike any I’ve experienced. To those of you who have lost children, my very heart and soul ache for you. I cannot imagine a greater loss. (Caleb, by the way, suffered only minor injuries in the incident.)

With that background, you will understand why I tend to turn introspective on my son’s birthday.

This year I decided to pull out a three-ring binder filled with Christmas letters I’ve written through the years. These represent my family’s history, including interesting tidbits about my three children. Not to worry; I won’t give you a play-by-play of Caleb’s first 18 years of life. But I will pull out a few choice stories for your amusement.

Let’s start with his birth 18 years ago. Caleb arrived weighing 10 lbs, 12 oz., and stretching 23 ½ inches long. Yes, he was born via C-section. No, the hospital did not have diapers large enough to fit him. And, yes, I had to return a pack of under-sized diapers that a friend gave me prior to the big boy’s birth.

By age four, my son was taking things apart to see how they work—or asking me or his dad to do so—and was interested in all things space. Those interests continue. Saturday he placed first in the gravity vehicle race and third in the astronomy competition at the regional Science Olympiads. Sunday he dismantled my non-functioning computer monitor which now lies in a heap on the living room floor.

One of my all-time favorite photos of my son at age 5.

During his fifth year of life, Caleb blind-sided me and broke my heart by proclaiming that he loved his kindergarten teacher more than me. But the affair proved short-lived after Mrs. K caught him stuffing green beans into his milk carton at lunchtime.

About this same time, my boy discovered the joys of reading on his own and building with LEGOs. This may seem rather mundane to mention. But I am convinced that his strong interest in books and in LEGOs contributed to his academic success through the years.

By third grade, Caleb was reading books like The Benefits of Bacteria (hey, I’m not making this up) and had chosen his life’s profession as a rollercoaster designer. Today he’s planning a career in computer engineering. See how that works? If you’re the parent of a young child, you can foresee your child’s future in his/her current interests.

In 2005, my husband and I gave Caleb a bow and arrows and made him promise never to aim toward the neighbor’s house.

A year later, deep into computers, he began checking out thick manuals on Java Script and Html from the public library. He was only 12.

During these pre-teen years, Caleb became an accomplished unicyclist who managed to wipe out—enough to prompt a 911 call from a bystander—while riding a two-wheeled bicycle on a public bike trail. Go figure. We took seriously his mantra of “Caleb likes to live life on the edge.”

The following summer he broke his little finger while unicycling. No, he didn’t tumble from the unicycle, but rather jammed his hand into a parked car while riding on our driveway.

Caleb in a senior class picture I shot last fall.

And so, eventually we reach today, 18 years after his birth, to the man Caleb has become. At well over six feet, he towers over the rest of us and delights in reminding his sisters of his height and their shortness.

He’s smart and funny and loving (although I don’t get nearly as many hugs as I once did) and makes me proud. I can’t wait to see what the next 18 years bring for my precious boy, my son.

© Copyright 2012 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Happy birthday, Miranda! November 16, 2011

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Miranda, five days old

MY SECOND BORN turned 24 today.

Miranda lives 5 ½ hours away in eastern Wisconsin so I had to settle for texting a birthday wish to her this morning. Finally, around 4:30 p.m., she got back to me after a long work day that began at 4:30 a.m. She had to be at an area hospital by 6 a.m. to interpret for a Spanish-speaking patient undergoing surgery.

She didn’t have much time to chat; her friend Greg was arriving soon and they were going out for a birthday dinner. Miranda hadn’t eaten all day and she was hungry.

Afterward she was having friends over to celebrate. One of them, Gerardo, planned to bring the cake.

I don’t know if they ate any of the cake. But my husband, who just talked to our daughter, told me the cake was smashed in her face. Knowing several of the invited guests, I expect it was Julio’s idea. Miranda said she saw it coming.

Now I don’t think I’d much like a cake or pie or anything smashed in my face. But I’m not 24 either.

I had to think for a minute today about exactly how old my daughter was.

“Mom, you don’t know how old I am?” she asked, a strong tone of disbelief tingeing her question.

I had to do the math quick-like in my head. I didn’t tell her, but thought, “I can’t even remember how old I am sometimes.”

And sometimes I find it hard to believe that my two daughters are in their 20s, my son turning 18 in a few months. Where did the years go? Honestly.

No one smashed cake into Miranda's face when she was almost two; she managed this all on her own.

Miranda with her Little Mermaid birthday cake on her fifth birthday in 1992. That's a troll she's clutching and a homemade birthday hat with her nickname, Tib (after Tib in the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace). Everyone loved Miranda's curly hair.

 

Happy birthday, Randy October 12, 2011

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TODAY MY HUSBAND is celebrating his 55th birthday, which now officially makes him as old as me. Yeah, I was smart and married a younger man, albeit by only about two weeks.

I’ve been contemplating what message to write here today to him. I decided, instead, to tell you a few things about Randy.

He’s the oldest boy in a family of nine children and was born in North Dakota, where he attended a one-room country school. As the story goes, one day the students were kept inside during recess because of coyotes roaming the schoolyard. True story, he swears.

Randy moved with his family to central Minnesota when he was six or seven, or some young age like that.

It was on the family’s farm south of Buckman that Randy saved his father’s life. Yes, you read that correctly. He saved his dad’s life. My spouse seldom talks about that October 21, 1967, accident shortly after his 11th birthday.

But he was there as his dad’s hand was pulled, along with corn stalks, into the spring-loaded rollers of a corn chopper. Blades sliced off his father’s fingers. Rollers trapped his arm.

And Randy was there to disengage the power take-off. He then raced across swampland and pasture to a neighbor’s farm. To save his father’s life. (You can read the details by clicking here.)

An Allis Chalmers corn chopper like this one exhibited at the 2010 Rice County Steam & Gas Engines Show, claimed my father-in-law's left hand and much of his arm in a 1967 accident. That's my husband, Randy, who saved his dad's life by running for help.

My spouse possesses a calm demeanor, meaning not much rattles him. He’s soft-spoken and funny in that quirky kind of humor way.

He does sudoku puzzles and is good at math and numbers and figuring stuff out.

His work as an automotive machinist at Parts Department, Inc., Northfield (NAPA) is always in demand. Suffice to say you better get in line. He’s that good at his job.

Randy at work in the NAPA machine shop in Northfield where he's worked since 1983.

He once owned a Harley, which was smashed in a crash, and once won a trip to the Bahamas.

Right about now, Randy’s probably eating his second or third piece of apple pie bars, his birthday treat at work. Tonight I’ll serve him his favorite cake, angel food, topped with one of his favorite fruits, raspberries.

Speaking of which, I need to bake that cake. Now.

Happy birthday and many more, Randy! (See, I used an exclamation mark, which I never use in my writing.)

I love you.

IF YOU WISH to leave a birthday message for Randy here, please do so. He reads my blog and is, indeed, one of my most vocal fans. Thank you for always supporting me in my writing, Randy.